The Best Place to Watch the Olympics

The best place to watch the Olympics is the isolation ward of the local hospital in Usti nad Labem, a town located between Prague and Dresden in much the same way your anus is located between your butt cheeks.

It was Sharon's fault I was in the hospital. It was not her fault I was sick, just that I was sick in the hospital. Before her intervention, I was sick at home. I had been sick at home for a week before the ambulance came, a week during which all of my insides had completely liquefied in an apparent attempt to pass efficiently, and sometimes involuntarily, out of my ass. I believe it was the involuntary part that made Sharon break her promise and tell her colleagues, who in turn called the ambulance, who in turn knocked on the door to our flat at 9 AM that morning while I was sitting on the toilet, quietly worried that I had just shat out my lungs.

I couldn't get up to unlock the door, and yelling "Hold on!" was out of the question since any such intake of breath would have caused even more of my insides to become my outsides, so I did nothing. Which was the wrong thing to do. The knocking turned to pounding and the pounding turned to louder pounding which soon became louder-pounding-with-yelling. Before long, so much noise was being made outside my door that when I did yell out, nobody heard it, which made it all the more tragic that the effort cost me my spleen, now floating like so much flotsam next to my lungs. Minutes later, the pounding and yelling was replaced by a key in a lock, and in seconds, the door opened and no less then ten people spilled into my flat. First were the paramedics, followed by the principal of Sharon's school, his entire English department, and then Sharon herself. I know this because our flat's bathroom was in a straight line with the front door and I had not bothered to shut the bathroom door. I had also not bothered to put on any clothes. Everyone stopped short when they saw me, and for a few moments the only sounds that could be heard were Sharon at the back of the group yelling, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and me squirting what was left of my dignity out of my ass.

At this point in the story, with a hallway full of paramedics and half the teaching staff of Primary School #33, it's embarrassing to admit this was all for a case of food poisoning. Bad food poisoning, to be sure, but still just food poisoning. The brouhaha came as a result of a slip Sharon made when telling her coworkers about my illness. She said I caught it in Bulgaria. You see, the Czechs are a bit xenophobic when it comes to countries more easterly than theirs (a laughable trait, equivalent to an Alabaman warning you against traveling to Mississippi), so when she said I had been laid up for a week with some bug we brought back from Bulgaria, the teacher to whom she said it was on the phone to the Czech version of the CDC in seconds.

And that's how I spent the next two weeks locked down in an isolation ward with nothing to do but watch the Olympics.

This was 1994. It was the dead of winter. The Olympics were being held in Lillehammer, Norway, about a thousand kilometers from the Czech Republic. The still state-controlled Czech television stations had sent a camera to follow the action. One camera. Every day they moved the camera to a new event and simply let it roll. For one whole day of my medical incarceration, I watched skier after skier stop in front of that camera in what must have been the least exciting coverage of the biathlon ever.

It was sublime.

There was no artificial human drama, no attempt to deify the athletes. There were neither commercials nor commentators. There was just skiing and shooting. (That is, inexplicably, what the biathlon is. They ski a little, they shoot a little. It's not so much a sport as a survival skill. But watching it did lead me to wonder why rifles aren't added to more Olympic events. They'd sure as hell make the men's floor exercise a more compelling watch.)

Every day the camera was in a different place, pointed at a different event. Finding out where made waking up in that dismal place actually exciting. Sometimes the location of the camera was so obscure, it took me forever to figure out what I was seeing. One time I watched a bare snow drift for almost an hour before, in a flash of color, a single cross-country skier went past. I literally squealed with joy when I saw him. Or her. There was no way to tell.

When visitation hour came each day, the Olympics were all I could talk about. Er, yell about.  Visitation time at the isolation ward meant for one hour people were allowed to stand on a balcony outside my window, outside the whole building actually, and yell at me through the double-paned glass. It was February. In Eastern Europe. I didn't get a lot of visitors.

"Did you watch the Olympics today?" I would ask eagerly.

"What?"

"DID YOU WATCH THE OLYMPICS TODAY?"

"NO! I TOLD YOU! IT'S UNWATCHABLE!"

I felt sorry for my brothers on the outside.

Those outside the hospital did not see the Olympics as I did. Their lives were too busy to watch the games in this new and, I'm not afraid to say it, daring way. To experience the Olympics like me, they needed to stop for more than just the few moments that their busy schedule allowed. They needed to stop for hours. They needed to stop and empty themselves of all their cares, their responsibilities, their commitments, and most importantly, their internal organs. And I knew just the restaurant in Bulgaria to help them out with that last one. 

Comments

[Clare]

Heeheehee. I guess it is long enough ago for it to be okay to giggle. Also, I am so impressed that your poop stories are not just confined to your children.

[manu]

reminds me of a bout of food poisoning from my student days...I could recommend an Indian shack restaurant just outside Mysore that would keep your brothers empty of all cares between the two Olympics as well..

hehe, publicized poop story was funny though..

[becky from sc]

Holy sh*t!

[The Mom]

I remember him trying to get me to watch the ski and shoot through the glass as I stood outside in February.
Celebrate with me. Beach volleyball is over! I was so tired of watching it!! Now maybe nbc will show other parts of the Olympics.

[Brian]

Don't worry, sweetheart. I TiVOed all the beach volleyball matches. We can keep the Olympic magic alive for months.

[Keryn]

I narrowly avoided spraying coffee out my nose just now because of this:
"Everyone stopped short when they saw me, and for a few moments the only sounds that could be heard were Sharon at the back of the group yelling, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and me squirting what was left of my dignity out of my ass."
I've been reading you for a long time, but this is the first time I've commented, I think. This was way too funny.

[Sue]

The Lillehammer Olympics were so beautiful. Of course, I got to watch the American version where David Letterman sent his mother to interview Hillary Clinton (yes, really!). Sorry about your illness, I hope all your organs grew back in the right way.

[Jen]

This is the funniest thing I have read all day. (Pay no attetnion to the fact that it's not even 9 AM yet.) Thanks for the giggle and remind me never to get food poisoning in Usti nad Labem (or anywhere near your wife for that matter).

[The Mom]

Brian, I would be more worried if we actually owned a TiVO.

[The Godfather]

Yes, for a week and a half, the Olympics has been either beach volleyball or Michael Felps winning a gold medal!

The Mom, now you have to tell your version of the story-- with the magical light bulb and everything...

[Burgh Baby]

Since I see that y'all would really, really like to enjoy the majesty and beauty that is beach volleyball, I would be more than happy to make you a DVD. We happen to have every single minute of Olympics coverage Tivo'd, so I'm sure I can put together at least 500 hours of half-naked women for you.

[Nicole]

Wow, my Czech-Olympic-watching experiences were nowhere near that dramatic (or well recounted), but they have made me pretty much insane watching the NBC coverage. Yes, on CzechTV we had to watch the tape of the Czech cyclist who took second in the 14th heat of track cycling over and over again--and heaven help us when a Czech actually won an event--but at least we were seeing events beyond the aforementioned beach volleyball.

[texasholly @ June Cleaver Nirvana]

That was disturbing and sweet at the same time. GENIUS post!

[Polly]

O my god. You did. You went there.

Or should I say, you went.

Per usual, gold out of dross.

Or should I say, dookie.

I am in awe. And also very, very glad I wasn't among the ten who busted in on you that frosty Czech morning.

[silvermine]

I was poisoned by Russian Monks. @#$% monestary food. Just as I discovered this fun fact, I needed to board a bus for 2 hours. I took as many anti-pooping pills as I could find, and made a great effort to pass out. After we got back to the dorm, everything in my body came out (both ways!) and I missed my finals. Thank god for those bathrooms where the toilet is in a seperate room -- my roommate was also food poisoned, so one person could throw up in the sink while the other used to toilet (with the broken seat). Also, thank the travel doctor for having the foresight to send me with some Cipro.

[Bennie]

Whenever I read one of your stories I don't know weather to laugh, cry, or both. I just know not to have any liquids in my mouth lest they shoot out through my nose.

[Mandy]

I like the artificial human drama of the Olypmics. I always tear up. Then again, I teared up when I read this story.

[Mauigirl52]

ROFLMAO. I too lost it with the visual image conjured up by the large group of people barging into your flat and you sitting on the toilet in plain view.

I think that way of watching the Olympics would be much more enjoyable. I hate the way they go back and forth and hype everything up.

[embee]

Damn, I guess I'll just put those airline tickets to Bulgaria on e-bay.

Perhaps the Bulgarians got it right. Their coverage is probably much less frustrating than watching Michael Phelps accept the gold, with the camera trained on his face throughout the duration of the national anthem. Even though there were 3 other guys who helped win the race. I am so pissed and behalf of the mothers of those boys.

[Mrs. Kennedy]

Brilliant.

[Jordan]

Oh. My. God. That's all I've got.

Wait, no it isn't. How's Kathryn's arm??

[loren]

Lovely, touching story. (Code for: that was disgusting and hilarious with a thoughtful ending.)

[Jaci]

Poop talk & Czech 'humor'...two of my favorite things!
PS - For the record, I'm married to a Czech, 'nuff said

[Clover88]

Lurker for some time, couldn't resist responding. I am married to a Norwegian; we came to live in my hometown in the US in 1985. That kind of coverage of the Olympics is done in Norway. My husband HATES to watch the US coverage and complains for weeks every Olympics about the smarmy coverage; about the stupid tear-jerker stories to make you care about the US athletes; about the US-centric coverage; about how in Norway, they just set up the camera and let it show everything: every single ski jumper and every jump; every speed skating race; every slalom run; and of course, every inch of the 50km cross-country race "with every guy skiing his guts out." Hey, kind of like Bulgarian food poisoning. Anyway, he LOVED your post and is happy to know someone here in the States appreciates excellent coverage of the Olympics. Thanks so much for a wonderful read.

[Tammy from Little Rock]

Glad you survived your ordeal! I just could not imagine. It must have been pure hell.